


Divination after Dark

by Verity Wolf (GallifreyanWitch)



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apples, Divination, F/M, Flashbacks, Halloween, Love not quite lost, Memories, Mirrors, My first published fanfic, Not Beta Read, Soul Cake Tuesday, Traditional Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanWitch/pseuds/Verity%20Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Roundworld Halloween has just passed and it was during those last few hours leading up to midnight the inspiration particle for this hit me (so typically I couldn't just wait till tomorrow, which is now today, to write it up).</p><p>Anyway. Mistress Weatherwax during one dark and stormy Soul's Cake night recalls a scene from her youth.</p><p>2015.02.27 - just added a quote that helped inspire this, nothing special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever published (Gods it's nerve racking) - I've been trying to write several simultaneously for the past year or so (and they'll probably take some more time to finish) and this is completely different to the others I'm working on - it really did just pop into my head out of nowhere, probably while the veil between the worlds was thin. 
> 
> I have no idea how OOC things are but have tried which I fear may have resulted in the sort of punctuation the Guild of Greengrocers would be proud of in an attempt to recreate an accent. I have also refreshed my memory with extracts from the books and hopefully made some subtle enough references to them.  
> The one character I have little knowledge of is You the cat - I'm yet to read that far.
> 
> Edit to notes 2014.11.11: I guess 3 kudos aren't bad in 10ish days for a first go... must admit I'm open to comments and creative critism (and by that I don't mean just finding creative ways to criticise) - as I say, this is a first publication: what works and what needs work? I'd love to develop my writing skills and a little feedback would help and be very appreciated.  
> I doubt I can capture Pratchett's style, but I hope there are some hints of his sort of humor/drama/narrative/[can't think of the right word right now but hopefully you understand].
> 
> Not entirely certain with the end, and could have finished it in a couple of times before that, but it's now 3AM and I've been working on this 4-5 hours flat and got to get up in about 4 more so that will have to do for tonight.

> _Granny paused. Her mind was crackling with relief. Should she tell him about the memories?_
> 
> _She opened her mouth to do so, and then thought again. No. He'd get soppy._
> 
> _"I'd have been crabby and bad-tempered," she said, instead._
> 
> _"That goes without saying."_
> 
> _"Hah! And what about you? I'd have put up with all your womanizing and drunkenness, would I?"_
> 
> _Ridcully looked bewildered._
> 
> _"What womanizing?"_
> 
> _"We're talking about what might have been."_
> 
> _"But I'm a wizard! We hardly ever womanize. There's laws about it. Well. . . rules. Guidelines, anyway."_
> 
> _"But you wouldn't have been a wizard then."_
> 
> _"And I'm hardly ever drunk."_
> 
> _"You would have been if you'd been wedded to me."_
> 
> _He caught up with her._
> 
> _"Even young Ponder doesn't think like this," he said. "You've made up your mind that it would have been dreadful, have you?"_
> 
> _"Yes."_
> 
> _"Why?"_
> 
> _"Why'd you think?"_
> 
> _"I asked you!"_
> 
> _"I'm too busy for this," said Granny. "Like I said, personal ain't the same as important. Make yourself useful, Mr. Wizard….”_
> 
>                                     - Lords and Ladies, Terry Pratchett

 

Rain pattered on the glass panes sounding deceptively entrancing. The wind bellowed outside and shook the windows and doors of the cottage.

A door slammed shut. Heavy boots thumped their way up the creaking wooden staircase. There was a rattle as the latch on another door was lifted, the door opened and then another rattle as it swung shut.

You looked up from the bed upon which she’d stretched herself with that look that clearly indicated no intention to move whatsoever.

Granny hung her dripping cloak up beside the fire added another log and stoked it with a glare. It wasn’t hard to glare. She’d just had to secure the goats shed against the storm and somehow the rain had succeeded in reaching her beneath the cloak.

Lighting a single candle on a little table she sat down and started pulling her boots off.

She stopped.

There was an apple on the little table beside her. The candle light flickered in the reflection of a small mirror. And it was _that_ night, just as it had been all those years ago.

Memories stirred.

  
...

 

There’d been apples and candle light and mirrors there too. And giggles of excitement.

Several girls, all in their midteens plus or minus a couple of years, had gathered in the room of a little cottage down in Lancre town. Some of them had dressed up a little, trying to look dark and mysterious.

This wasn’t really Esme’s sort of thing, _parties_. It ignored what was really going on. Soul Cake day was meant to be about spirits and the changes, another celestialy determined day marking a shift in seasons and coinciding with all that occult phenomena. Oh, the equinox may have been some months ago but now things were really heading towards winter, no doubt about it. Even the leaves on the slowest trees were turning now and the nights were noticeably longer. But what did people do to mark this? Gorge themselves and get up to no good.

But her mother had encouraged her to be sociable and this was Gytha’s little get together after all. At least Gytha actually had some real magic in her and surely wouldn’t take this ancient festival entirely in vain.

Esme hadn’t dressed up. A Witch doesn’t pretend to be a witch, she _is_ a witch. She goes about as is and everyone knows who and what she is. Witches are the trend setters which all those non-witch girls followed, not visa-versa.

The fact that Witches favor practical cloaks and distinctive hats and the colour black is, of course, purely coincidental.

There’d been apple bobbing and stories and snapdragon [1]. Esme felt she was getting a little old for such simple novelties, but being sociable seemed all about compromise. At least if she decided in future not to compromise she’d know exactly what she’d be missing and know it wasn’t much: it would be an informed decision rather than blind arrogance.

Now as the witching hour approached it was time for the _real_ magic.

There was a big old dressing table in the room and a big old mirror upon it. A couple of candles had been lit and somewhere some herb or other was smoldering away creating a strange scent that was not entirely unpleasant but you wouldn’t want to be with in a closed room.

Gytha went first in this little divination practice to show the other girls how it was done. Really, most already knew how it worked, being entrenched in folklore and custom, but none of them girls had been instructed by a real would-be witch. And even if it hadn’t been for the evident hints of witchcraft before them that Gytha just had a knack for, it was generally agreed an Ogg knew best.

Gytha seated herself at the chair in front of the mirror. Taking a knife that looked as if it had been handed down from Ogg to Ogg, mother to daughter, she carefully peeled the apple in one of her hands so the peel came off in one long continuous strip. To Esme’s eyes it looked as if she’d been practicing. A clever hand could make the peel come off in a variety of lengths, and widening the cut here rather than there could create a bend that could, when thrown, suggest a letter.

Setting the peel aside, Gytha cut the apple into eighths and started eating a piece as she brushed her long dark brown hair. She ate another piece, and another then stopped and gawked at the mirror.

‘Would you look at that!’

The girls clustered around. Esme peered over them in an attempt at disinterested curiosity. She couldn’t see anything in the mirror. From the chatter of the other girls they couldn’t either and practically begged Gytha to elaborate

‘Well there’s three of ‘em just behind me and…’ Gytha blushed, ‘let’s just say there’s more behind ‘em.’

Standing Gytha guided the next girl to take her place with little words of advice typically at moments advice was most probably unwanted. That girl too exclaimed in delight that she saw some figure in the mirror that to all other eyes was invisible. Another girl had a go, then another until finally, last but everyone would certainly agree not least, it was Esme’s turn.

The bubbling of the girls excited chatter calmed as they watched expectantly. Already Esme had become established as somewhat aloof and that somehow drew the curiosity of the other girls. That and the fact is was relatively common knowledge there’d been a young man she’d got on rather well with over the summer.

Esme peeled and cut the apple, undid her dark hair and brushed it just as the others had done. She ate the pieces of apple slowly watching the mirror. To her surprise she found herself hoping to see _him_ there. She wanted the magic to work. She wanted the future to be exactly what she wanted it to be and she wanted her skills as a Witch to become evident now.

But there was nothing but her reflection in the dark glass.

Finishing the last piece she looked down and thought. Was the magic working or not? What should she tell the girls behind her? What if the magic had worked and he really wasn’t there in her future? Or was it that he was there and the magic wasn’t working?

She had a choice. She could tell the truth. It would be so much simpler. She could hold onto what she’d learnt and believed about her own developing skills of magic and reinforce her reputation as a rising Witch. Or she could lie, act sociable and fit in.

‘He aten’t there. No one’s there. Don’t know what you lot see in this.’

She rose a little too quickly from her seat and left the room, making her way to the garden. The air outside was fresh and a little chilly, but it was better than in there with them.

A waning sickle moon hung in the sky. Esme’d learnt enough to read the signs.

‘Cold out here, ain’t it?’ Gytha joined her.

‘To be expected at this time a’year.’ Esme replied a little too icily.

‘Perhaps something went wrong. We could always try again. There are other methods yer’know.’

‘Course I know. Only spent the last year studying ‘em. But not much point, is there? What if they all come out the same? Just wasted a lot of time. What’ll happen ‘ll happen.’

‘Maybe… maybe it’s all been misinterpreted. All that fortune telling stuff’s about interpretation, right? Well what if we’ve just read the wrong one? I mean, some say looking in the mirror just tells ya who you're going to marry in the next year… or two.’

‘What, and you’re going to have yourself oodles of husbands in the next couple of years?’ Esme snorted her disapproval. ‘Never should trust a looking glass anyway. They never show you what’s really there,’ she muttered.

‘You could borrow one of mine if you like. Looks like I’ll have a few to spare.’ Gytha said in an attempt to be cheery with a nudge and a wink. She brightened up a bit as she said ‘What if… what if it’s simply that you don’t marry? No reason you can’t have a fella and not marry. I mean half the time it’s just an agreement between two people and general recognition they’re officially a couple up here.’

‘You know what’d happen if I did that? Somethin’ dreadful, you can bet on it. One or the other of us’d probably get killed before long. Fate’s a cruel one and when he’s made up his mind it’s hard to change it.’ Esme shook her head. ‘Did you really see ‘em?’

Gytha gave a half smile. It was one of those situations where you couldn’t be certain whether you were pleased or disappointed with the results.

‘Guess that’s that then.’ Esme said with a shrug.

‘You can’t just accept it.’

‘Oh can’t I now? Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? Well you know what? I don’t have to like it but I can accept and I _do_ accept it.’

Gytha sighed. ‘Sound’s like you’ve made up your mind, Endemonidia. As you say, you won’t be told otherwise and with an attitude like that I’m hardly surprised what’ll be will be.’ Gytha started heading back towards the cottage.

‘I aten’t made up my mind, it’s just that it’s probably better to just accept it and get on with life.’ Esme called after her. ‘If I end up getting proved wrong I’m no worse off, am I? And if not… I mean, there’s more important things in life than men, aren’t there?’ She ended a little too questioningly, as if for once unsure of herself.

Her friend looked skeptical about that last point, but what should she expect of Gytha who already had half the boys of Lancre chasing after her? She let them catch her too.

‘Maybe. It’s just the fact you're accepting it. Not like you to put up with somethin’ you don’t care for.’

‘Do you really think we can make our own fate, Gytha?’

Gytha wobbled her hand in a gesture of both uncertainty and suggesting it was a bit of both. ‘Mustn’t forget there’s a Lady up there to keep him in check so he can’t call all the shots.’

‘It’s just… I think I’ve chosen mine. I could have lied. Perhaps it would have changed things, but in the end I chose magic… over him.’

‘Well, magic won’t keep you warm at night but it’s sure to stay with you longer. Talkin’ of which let’s get back inside, Endemonidia. It’s bloody freezin’.’

Esme found it funny. She’d half chosen that name because it was a bit of a mouthful and would surely make people slow down and think a little as they said it. Trouble was she was now hearing it repeated back to her in a garbled fashion as people attempted to get used to it through frequent use.

There was power in names, however a mispronounced magical name’s powers dipped into minus figures.

‘Think I’d prefer Esme from now on.’ She said as she followed Gytha back to the little house.

‘Even when you’re a fully practicin’ Witch?’

‘Course not.’

‘Hasn’t got the right headology to it, if you don’t mind me sayin’. You’d need something more formal, something to inspire and awe…’

‘Nought too complicated, mind. A good witch should be able to make her name mean whatever she wants rather than try and make it seem impressive or anything.’

‘Let me know when you’ve made you're mind up as to what to call you, Mistress Weatherwax.’

For once Esme had a little laugh with Gytha as she said that, but in the back of her mind she was thinking. Mistress Weatherwax. She actually quite liked that. It was, undoubtedly, her, almost as if the name had just been waiting for her to discover that. Things like that had a habit of lurking in wait and once found seemed as if they should always have been there. And it was on the right side of prim and proper and very much in control. That could work…

...

 

Mistress Weatherwax sat looking at her reflection in the darkness as she brushed her hair. She took a bite of the apple. It wasn’t out of any romantic notion or superstition, it was simply that her hair needed brushing after how hoods and the wind had tangled it and she was feeling peckish. Getting up in the middle of the night to secure the premises against the onslaught of the weather did that to you.

She’d learnt a lot over the years since then. Certainly more than had she had a man in the way. For one thing she’d uncovered the reality and practicalities behind the superstitions and traditions of people. For another she’d learnt the path of a Witch was not all moonlight and gathering herbs in fair weather. It was hard work. But, looking back, even if she had made a decision she didn’t regret it.

Her gaze refocused on a shape emerging from the depths of the mirror.

She froze, looking at the reflection.

Very hesitantly she turned around.

‘What the hell are you doin’ there?!’

‘And hello to you too, Esme.’

She dismissed the twinkle in his eyes as a trick of the firelight.

‘Go on. You haven’t answered my question.’

‘Too true, too true. I was just passing by, you know how it is, heading over to Überwald for some conference or other young Stibbons is certain will revolutionize the world of wizardry and I thought I’d pop in.’

‘In my bedroom? In the middle of the night? And there I was thinking you some gentleman.’

Ridcully grinned. ‘I was actually aiming for the local tavern. Thought I’d skip the coach ride to town tomorrow morning by getting a head start tonight. Must have miscalculated. Probably the storm and at my age the mind does have a habit of wandering.’

Dear Gods he never gave up hope.

Dear Gods she was glad of it.

‘Your wet.’

‘Really, is that a nice thing to say after- Oh, yes.’ He said, realising it an observation of his current condition. ‘Landed on the doorstep. I did knock but I expect with all this clattering going on you didn’t hear. And I thought it best if I actually announced my presence rather than hide and wait till morning. Tonight’s the night of shocks and surprises, not tomorrow.’

‘Not a good night to be traveling.’

‘No. Well they do say it’s the day witches and warlocks should stay-‘

‘I had half a mind to let _you_ stay, given the weather, of course, but finish that sentence as you intended and I’ll throw you out nonetheless.’

‘What I was going to say was “stay at home”, which I would not have expected to cause some offense.’

‘I’ll let it pass, this once.’

‘Good, because you do know what they say about home?’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s where the heart is.’

She glowered at him, but it was certainly a softer glower than normal.

‘Get your cloak off. Can’t have you dripping all over the place. I’ll stick some tea on. It looks like it’s going to be a long night.’

The stairs creaked as two pairs of feet descended.

The wind howled outside.

You stretched, sank her claws into the quilt then relaxed. Humans could be so noisy and distracting. Finally she could sleep in peace.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - Using Gytha’s recent attempts at home distillation that left the fruit in a sorry state and would have surely blown up any real dragon.


	2. Scene 1: Outside Cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I am not good at art, I'll admit that from the off. But that doesn't mean I can't aspire, and how am I to develop if not through practice?  
> When I come up with stories I frequently can run them through my head like movies. This once, probably the same thing that drove me to publish the story in the first place , has driven me to draw and hopefully illustrate/storyboard how I see it. Who knows, it might work - sometimes youve got to take a chance.

Based on Paul Kidby's illustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 other versions - line drawing and without effects - are on my deviantart page (http://gallifreyan-witch.deviantart.com/). The cottage comes out a lot better with the contrast in the line drawing.


End file.
